First and foremost, I won my fantasy baseball league. If there was any lingering confusion as to how this blog was evolving, this prioritized statement should make one thing abundantly clear. This blog is a terribly organized self-exploration of my post-Turnaround journey. I think I mentioned this before, but I’m using shows as signposts. Reminders to write. So, to be clear, it’s evolving to the point at which no one will likely give a shit.
Except me. Which is fine.
I’ll keep posting things garnering a slightly wider appear to the parent site. The Institute of Idle Time, thanks to some new additions to The Faculty, should be chugging along with some new content at a fairly more reliable pace.
In the meantime, I won. And I won’t bore you (or myself, since I’ve established that I’m this site’s only regular reader) with the details. Suffice to say that I was great fun to be around on Saturday when I thought I had the championship wrapped up; a complete asshole on Sunday after Dee Gordon stole a pair of bases before I had even finished my first cup of coffee; and a champagne-popping loon atop Nob Hill’s Pinnacle Sunday night thanks to Khris Davis and the lunacy-inspiring effects of the #Supermoon. There’s also this, if I care to relive things in a little more detail.
During that Saturday in question, a group of us were at the Marin County Fairgrounds for the first (and possibly only) Clif Bar CykelScramble. I didn’t know anything about this event prior to arriving, having only been promised three things from MMJ’s heads-up: live bands, including Geographer; food trucks and beer; free. Good enough to get me over the Golden Gate Bridge, for sure.
What I learned upon arriving: for some reason, it’s pronounced “see-kull” Scramble, not “cycle” Scramble; the relay obstacle course event was hilarious; it was vastly under-attended. I’m not sure if there were issues with marketing the event, oppressive North Bay heat, or just hipster backlash on missed-their-window Geographer and played-out Cold War Kids, but it felt as though nobody was there. Or maybe too many people, like me initially, assumed bringing your own bike was a prerequisite (when, in fact, unless you were registered in a team for the competition, you weren’t allowed to bring your bike). Or maybe people figured: this is America. Anything free can’t be that good. Hell, Chipotle even abandoned Golden Gate Park this summer after two straight years sponsoring their own free outdoor festival (those events, by comparison, were freaking packed).
No, that can’t be it. A weekend living in the shade of Hardly Strictly Bluegrass was enough of a reminder that kids in this town still absolutely love a bargain. Must’ve been the Cold War Kids then. Who, by the way, with the north coast hills as a backdrop, to probably their smallest outdoor crowd in a decade, put on a great set.
So never mind trying to make sense of it. We all had a great time (especially since for most of that Saturday I was flying under the assumption that I had already won my league). Score one for the well informed, and score one for Clif for sponsoring a fun day. I bought a box of Pumpkin Spice & Hot Chocolate Clif Bars from Costco last week to show my support with my wallet.
And because it pisses KB off that Pumpkin Spice Everything is upon us.